Space Wolves Venerable...
Standing three times the height of a man, these towering war machines bear powerful weapons and are as lethal at range as in close assault. A chapter's Dreadnoughts are treasured relics, only awoken in great need.
Standing three times the height of a man, these towering war machines bear powerful weapons and are as lethal at range as in close assault. A chapter's Dreadnoughts are treasured relics, only awoken in great need.
Every Space Wolves warrior dreams of a place in the Wolf Guard. To be a member of this select brotherhood is to wield the very deadliest weapons of war while serving as the personal guard of their Wolf Lord.
Bloated with festering corruption, Plague Marines form the mainstay of the Death Guard, and unlike many Traitor Legions their numbers have only swollen as the millennia have passed.
Labouring through the air on buzzing turbines and driven by the trapped essence of a Nurgle Daemon, the Foetid Bloat-drone drifts toward the enemy like an armoured plague fly.
Viewed by some as wild, even barbaric, the Space Wolves are nonetheless a proud brethren, as noble as they are fierce. Those who dare to oppose them quickly feel the fangs of the wolf around their throats, for the Sons of Russ are dedicated to the hunt.
Daubed beneath their sinesterly hued Phobos armour with runes of warding and abjuration, Hounds of Morkai are hunters of psykers.
Supremely confident and eager always to be first into the fray, Wolf Lord Ragnar Blackmane leads his Great Company in devastating planetary invasions.
Typhus, Lord of Mortarion’s First Plague Company and Host of the Destroyer Hive, is the most feared of all Plague Fleet commanders.
Tubes and pipes erupt in profusion from the Lord of Virulence’s armour. These gout noxious fumes are putrid eruptions whose hue and stench guide the fire of artillery engines behind the lines. In their wake, their flensefrond cloaks leave a trail of sickening mucosal slime for hungry Daemon Engines to follow.
The wolves of Fenris are legendary beasts whose lives are inextricably linked with those of the human tribes that share their ice-bound world.
Shambling across the battlefield in reeking hordes, Poxwalkers engulf their enemies in rotting tides of grasping hands, gnashing teeth and squirming tentacles. They are the cursed victims of Nurgle’s plagues, transformed into unliving weapons by the cruel masters of the Death Guard.
Wise beyond measure, having fought and survived countless battles in hundreds of worlds, Ulrik the Slayer is legendary.